Music and people hold my life together. I describe experiences, discoveries and insights, often connected with music and with teaching and playing piano. The blog is a way to stay in touch with friends, and may also be food for thought for anyone else, especially people connected with music and the piano/
Musik und Menschen halten mein Leben zusammen. Ich beschreibe Erfahrungen, Entdeckungen und Einsichten, oft in Zusammenhang mit dem Klavierspiel und dem Klavierunterricht.

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

“John, guess what, this was the first organ concert that didn’t give me a headache, because it wasn’t so loud” a friend of mine complimented the performer John Sheridan after the concert on Sunday. Whatever I was just thinking stopped short. Holli had just expressed what I had missed at the recital - I don’t mean the headache, of course - but something hadn’t felt quite right about the sound, and it was something that was definitely not John’s fault.

His playing was excellent, completely convincing musically and technically. The registration was exquisite, and the choice of repertoire showed the variety of the instrument, featuring some pieces that you rarely hear: Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in c-minor BWV 546 and the Trio Sonata in c-minor BWV 526, Five of the Six Studies in Canonical Form op. 56 for Organ or pedal piano by Schumann, Mozart’s “Piece for a Clockwork Organ” the second Organ Sonata by Hindemith and the Prelude in F-major BuxVW 145 by Buxtehude.

What was wrong with the sound? My mind went back to the organ concerts of my childhood. Growing up in Cologne, Germany, the organs I knew were big, and the churches were huge. My mother used to take me to the free organ recitals at Cologne Cathedral that took place ever Wednesday evening throughout the summer

On entering the cathedral you left the outside world behind. It was cool, dark and quiet inside. A smell of incense mixed with the scent of the past, every stone still breathed the presence of people who had been there long ago. There was some apprehension as the time drew near when the concert was supposed to begin, it could start any moment now, and you better be prepared.

With the first note, more often a chord, a passage , a wave of sound swept over you, whose source remained in the dark. It filled every corner and every niche of the vast space, taking possession of your body and soul. You were drowned in an ocean of sound, making you feel infinitely small and uplifted at the same time. The organ also has quiet sounds, of course, but they seemed to come from nowhere, from one of the many chapels off the main aisle maybe, or a balcony high up under the ceiling.

I didn’t “understand” the music back then, I didn’t know anything about the voices, or the form, or the color of sound that I heard. I wasn’t able to listen to the music the way I do know. Some pieces I disliked, mostly the shrieking dissonant contemporary works. Yet, the mere presence of the sound was awe-inspiring. I would look up at the at the stained glass windows, and watch the daylight fading, or cast my eyes down to the floor, trying to avoid the glare of a grotesque face carved in stone, staring at me from the height of a column. In this presence, the sound would send my imagination on a journey.

Compared to those experiences, whose presence I wasn’t aware of, the concert at All Soulsfelt so “human.” I was listening to an organ recital in the plain, open space of the sanctuary, surrounded by friends and familiar faces . My mind was following the voices of each composition. Interestingly, my favorite piece turned out to be the Hindemith Sonata. John was playing the organ in the organ loft in the back of the church, and you could watch every move on a big screen that had been mounted in the front.

It was great playing, and it was a great concert. For John, who is director of music at Christ Church New Brunswick, NJ I wish that, one day, he gets to play under the magic spell of an ancient gothic cathedral.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Just in time for the “Bach Year” 2000, the Dutch writer Maarten t’Hart published a book that he called “Bach and I.” It is as much a biography of Bach as an account of t’Hart’s own history of the love of Bach’s music. One of the book reviews in Germany scolded t’Hart at the time - who did he think he was, daring to mention his own name in connection with a genius like Bach?

“Present something that you’re passionate about,” said Mr Lindquist, who organizes the program, when I asked him what kind of music would be suitable for a presentation at the Senior Citizens’ Club in Maplewood. So, I put together a program along the lines of my own history with Bach. It may very well have started with Myra Hess’ piano arrangement

of “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring" - by the way, Seymour Bernstein wrote an arrangement that is much more playable and sounds just as good.

“Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” was my mother’s favorite, and she used to play it all the time. The piece was reason enough to start learning to play the piano myself. The pieces from the Notebook for Anna Magdalena Bach were my own first attempts to play his music. My revolt against discipline as a teenager included fingerings, and that limited my success to master the two part inventions. I didn’t like Bach very much during that time, but fortunately, that was just a phase. As the discipline yielded results, it gradually transformed into veneration, and the effort no longer mattered - it turned into a stepping stone.

The last point on my program at the meeting were the Prelude and Fugue in b-flat minor from the Well-Tempered-Clavier, Book II. They are not “easy listening,” but the music reached its audience. I explained the idea of the “subject,” that opens a discussion, and undergoes transformations as it is reflected from the viewpoint of different “voices” in the course of the piece. There are conflicting views and resolutions - something we all can relate to, because we know it from the experience of our own lives.

Many stories were told over coffee after my presentation - of piano lessons long ago, of friends and family members who used to play the piano. Someone remembered a stack of music in the living room that was waiting to be donated, and one lady shared the story how her husband went out to buy a fridge and purchased a piano instead.

There’s a connection between Bach’s music and me, and that connection made a connection. If you don’t have a very personal story with the music, why would you play it or listen to it? We don’t just value great music because some expert says that it’s the work of a genius.

Sometimes, music can be like a foreign language - “It’s so helpful if you know what to listen for,” one audience member commented. But ultimately, it’s not the knowledge about the structure, but the music that draws us in, because it expresses something that we all share. Telling your personal story may inspire someone else's curiosity to find their own personal story, and ultimately, it’s all those personal stories that pass on the music and keep it alive.

Monday, January 2, 2012

At 16 1/2, my Cappuccina is definitely a Senior Cat. My landlord commented recently that he doesn’t hear her running around anymore, like she did when we had just moved in. Catfits have given way to a more mindful pace, and she aims carefully before she jumps. She didn’t show any interest in the toy mice that friends sent her for Christmas. Toys are for kitty-kids, she has risen above that.

Curiously enough, I hardly ever think about the way she used to be, because she exhibits such an air of contentment. She’s found new things to enjoy, indulge in a sun bath, or meditate over a cup of tea. Everything is good the way it is, and I am grateful and happy for every day she’s still around.

Early this morning, she came into bed and crawled under the covers. She settled down in my arm and just like that, she started to purr, for no apparent reason. I think the ability to purr, to spontaneously vocalize the feeling that everything is just right as it is now, is a clear advantage that cats have over humans. Since we as humans don’t purr, moments of contentment often enough escape our attention altogether. We’re haunted by the past and worried by the future and don’t even notice that it’s thoughts that trouble our minds, while there is actually not so much to worry about in the present moment.

Imagine we could purr: passengers purring on public transport, business partners purring in the office, students purring in class, patients purring in the doctor’s office. Piano teachers purring during a lesson and audiences purring during a performance might require some adjustment, but we’ve all got adjusted to the humming of humidifiers, air conditioning, and subways rumbling under concert halls. Even if the purring wasn’t directly related to a smooth ride, a sensational sales offer, imaginative teaching, or the magic cure I’m sure purring would make a difference just by spreading the vibe.

A purring attitude changes your outlook on your environment. I watched people in the city today, trying to determine whether they were purring inside, and I found quite a few. Out of respect, I refrained from taking photographs. I also got the impression that most dogs are purring secretly, even though you can’t hear it.

Nature has not equipped us with the gift of purring, but I’m sure we all have a personal purr spot within. Whenever the moment is good, it lights up and sends a wave of warmth and well being through the whole person. Let’s find that spot within, and connect to it often. Have a Purr-fect New Year!